Story of an Old Man's Life

She enters my view, and my pace quickens. Her long black hair is probably not all her own, but who cares. Her head is tilted to the side, which makes me wonder if she slept on it wrong.

Her jeans are perfect, just barely able to contain all her curves. Her shirtsleeves are rolled up like that character from One Day at a Time, Snyder I think his name was. Her flip flops open and close with each step. I wonder how she can walk so fast in that get up.

She must be a track star. I'm out of breath and barely keeping up with her. I'm determined to be strategically behind her when we reach the door. Like a marathon runner who can see the finish line, I force my legs to push on.

We reach the door, and I'm right behind her, perfect, except I'm out of breath. She holds the door open, and I wheeze out a thank you. I watch her walk out of my view. Story of my life, broads walking out on me. She was too young anyway. I need someone more my speed, which at the current moment is somewhere between, slow and still.

Lately I haven't had luck with older women either. These old dames want to be treated like Katherine Hepburn, a hard thing to do on a social security check. I'm not Humphrey Bogart, but I look pretty good for my age, 71 my next birthday.

Mara, the new lady I've been dating, is just my type, fiery red hair with a nice full figure, like the actresses from the 50's, not the anorexic types that litter the screen now. I want to feel my woman when I grab hold of her. The grabbing has been scarce, and I fear arthritis will invade my hands soon, making it difficult to grab anything.

I arrive to pick up Mara. She doesn't drive anymore, she says it makes her too nervous. She is staying with her son and his wife. I hate picking her up there, her son always looks at me as if I am doing naughty things to his mother, which is unfortunately not true. I hope she's ready, I'm not in the mood for small talk. Thank God, she opens the door before I even knock. I peak inside hoping to see her son. I wanted to let him know not to wait up.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank You."

The ride home was quick. Inside I tell her to have a seat on the couch, and I bring her a glass of wine. I'm not trying to get her drunk, just relaxed. I hurry off to finish dinner. I set the table, then head to my lady.

"No, No, No!"

I bend over and stroke her cheek trying to wake her, nothing. I get close and move a strand of hair that has fallen over her ear, and whisper, "Mara, Mara."

No luck, story of my life.